Page 8 of Ruined By the Enemy
Plant evidence. Create a fake company. Deceit. Where do I begin?
“Does it matter?” I counter with a chin tilt. “It got you what you desperately wanted, didn’t it?” His brows furrow in surprise.“You’re not so straightforward yourself, Mr. Moretti,” I say smugly, “and neither are the attorneys who work for you, or you wouldn’t pay them as much as you do.”
He pulls back. I fold my arms and arch a brow. “So I pulled a few wild strings. Maybe I bent the law a bit. As you said, their financial dealings and broken contracts would’ve come to light anyway. All I did was put you ahead of your competitors.”
My mouth curves with a tiny, triumphant smile when he doesn’t respond. I win.
Dom nods slowly. “I see. You’ve done your research.” He walks back to his seat, and I breathe a sigh of relief. “Which brings me back to my question—you could’ve chosen a more ambitious position, and yet you asked for a job as an attorney. Not a senior lawyer, seeing as you were on track for a promotion at your former firm.”
My relief vanishes as quickly as it came.
His voice drops to a low and rough timbre that grazes my skin without touching. It’s both unsettling and unnerving. “I’m sure,” he says, “you understand why I find you suspicious.”
He’s going to fire me.
I can see my uncle’s face and disappointment digging into the frown lines.
“However, I do admire your ability to get results, so I’ll keep you on board,” he adds in a much lighter tone. “Once again, welcome to Moretti Group, Miss Greco.”
The air that rushes through my lungs this time is audible, as is the relief that spreads across my face. At the same time, I watch the corners of his mouth lift a little in a teasing smile.
And it hits me.
He was doing it again, setting me up to see if I slipped.
“Fu—” I bite my tongue from cursing as my chest swells with annoyance.
“Do you have something to say, Miss Greco?”
I taste blood on my tongue. “No, sir,” I reply. “I should… I should get going, unless you have something else for me.”
He shakes his head, dismissing me without a thought. My fingers flex as I push to my feet, and the sound of my heels clicking is duller than the pounding in my ears.
I want to turn around and stride up to his desk, getting close enough to see his face turn pale when I tell him the truth. I want to look into his eyes and see the defeat after he realizes he’s been cornered.
I’d do anything to wipe the smirk off his face and show the world who he truly is—not brilliant, pragmatic, or on the cover of GQ magazine.
No. The son of a cold-blooded killer who never felt remorse for the crimes his father committed.
“Oh, Miss Greco.”
My heel digs into the ground as I halt. I turn without thinking, only to find his eyes pinned on me. My heart stutters. “You’ll be working outside the office today. I have a case for you. My secretary will have it sent to your email address, and you’ll have four hours to go through it.”
“‘Four’?” I echo.
“Yes, four. We’ll leave in the evening.” A pause. “You may go.”
My fingers tremble as I grab the door handle, and it takes everything in me to keep from slamming it shut. “‘Four’?” I repeat with a scoff as I march down, both hands thrust on my hips. “It took me weeks to set up Blackwater Talent.”
Even then, I needed my uncle’s help.
And he expects me to learn everything about a company I’ve probably never heard of, about a case I know nothing about… in four hours?
“Asshole,” I mutter as I punch the elevator button. The magazines and news clippings should’ve branded him as a“ruthless, psychopathic brute” because I doubt he’s capable of empathic or human reasoning.
The door to my office slams with a loud thud, and I sink into my chair, dragging my hand through my hair with a frustrated groan.
I wish I didn’t have to play the long game.In this day and age, I could hire someone to publish videos exposing Domenico Moretti. Nobody likes billionaires anyway.
